


Bram vs His Delicate Stomach's Agenda

by sometimes_emeto



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Like one mention of Nick, M/M, Sickfic, Vomiting, and why is nobody talking about how canonically easily nauseated Bram is?, anyway, bc there's not enough content in this fandom, emeto, just a lil fluffy h/c fic for ya, sick bram, tw vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 15:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15318069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimes_emeto/pseuds/sometimes_emeto
Summary: Bram catches a stomach bug, and Simon comes to the rescue.





	Bram vs His Delicate Stomach's Agenda

**Author's Note:**

> Oof y'all I'm aware that this isn't a masterpiece, but I hope you enjoy! I'm definitely feelin the Love, Simon/Simon vs vibe right now, and this was just sitting in my folder rotting away so I figured I might as well post it!   
> WARNING: Graphic descriptions of vomiting  
> (Of course, neither the book nor the movie belong to me)

Simon opens his phone at 5:02 to a text that he hadn't heard chime in.  
Nick, 4:53: Come get ur boy  
Panic snakes up Simon's throat, and he swallows hard to dispel it, at least until he knows what's wrong. Bram's soccer practice isn't supposed to end until 6:00, but he could need to be picked up early for any number of reasons. Maybe he's tired, Simon tells himself, or his coach decided to quit mid-practice. Simon's attempts to soothe his overactive brain are totally futile. He has his jacket and shoes on in seconds, pausing only to type back a quick message for Nick.  
Simon, 5:03: ? OMW  
The field is only a few blocks away, but Simon's almost out of breath when he arrives. He's not sure whether to chalk it up to his uncharacteristically quick pace or the nerves that are still winding around his windpipe, waiting for the slightest motive to tighten. Either way, his breathlessness doesn't stop him from jogging over to the field. Just a hundred or so feet away, he finally spots what must be his boyfriend. All of the other players are on the field, doing some sort of rigorous drill, but there's a lone figure hunched over on the bench, a couple feet away from where the coach is standing, shouting orders.   
Bram flinches when Simon's hand lands on his back, and he immediately withdraws his hand.   
"Oh," Bram sighs in a surprisingly monotone voice, "it's you."   
Even though he doesn't exactly sound excited to see him, Simon doesn't miss the underlying current of relief in his attitude. Simon's always thought that he has such expressive eyes, and today they're rimmed with dark circles, on the verge of bloodshot, a little hazy.   
"What happened?" Simon asks, coming around the bench to crouch in front of his boyfriend, but stopping short when he almost steps in what happened.  
Bram sighs again, looking down and rubbing at his cheek with a hand, "I don't know. I was fine, and then I got all shaky, and then..." he motioned vaguely toward the pool of vomit on the grass in front of him.  
Simon frowns, reaching out to feel his forehead for a fever. Bram leans into his hand, and there's no doubt about the heat there.  
"You're feverish," Simon says, "does it feel like a stomach bug, maybe?"   
Bram doesn't answer. He's suddenly gone very pale and very quiet, pulling sluggishly away from Simon's hand. Simon realizes what's happening just in time to dodge it. He steps back right as Bram heaves, and a spurt of puke spills out of his mouth. He already seems to be exhausted, and he hangs his head as he belches out another wave. This round is short-lived, probably more so than the last, and with a third and final contraction of his throat, Bram's stomach contents splatter into the puddle at his feet.  
Simon lets him breathe for a second before speaking again, "you okay?"   
"Ugh," Bram groans, and spits weakly at the ground, "I guess."  
"Do you feel up to walking back?" Simon asks hopefully. Honestly, he isn't sure what they're going to do if the answer is 'no.' They probably couldn't take an Uber without being stuck with the cleaning fee, and neither of them have a car.  
Luckily, though, Bram only takes a second before reassuring Simon that he's fine to walk home, and standing on slightly unsteady feet. Simon's quick to reach out a hand to Bram's waist, stabilizing him.   
"Okay," he sighs, reaching down to shoulder Bram's soccer bag, "let's get you home."   
Simon takes it as a victory that they only has to stop once on the way home for his boyfriend to dry-heave. Granted, it takes them almost a half-hour to finish the 10 minute walk, but he's counting his blessings. He has a feeling that it's going to be a long evening.   
"Here," Simon comes to crouch beside Bram on the bathroom floor and hands him a glass of water, "take a sip."   
Bram's resting his cheek on the toilet seat, but at the suggestion of ingesting anything, flicks his eyes at Simon, lifts his head slightly and spits up a weak stream of orangey bile. The taste triggers another gag, but nothing comes up.  
"Okay," Simon sets the glass down in favor of rubbing Bram's tense back, "later, then."  
"I don't feel good," he mumbles, " I want to stop."  
"Oh, I know, babe," Simon soothes, biting his lip. He discretely feels Bram's forehead again under the guise of wiping some sweat away. It's way hotter than it was before. If his boyfriend is puking at the thought of water, he wonders how in the world he's going to force fever reducers down his throat. When he starts dry heaving, though, it almost feels like a ray of hope.  
"Bram, you're done. There's nothing left," Simon rubs his shoulder, and then helps him lean back when there's no resistance, "let's go to bed."  
Bram looks at him pitifully and coughs, "are you sure? I don't wanna...mess up the bed."   
"Don't worry about that, I'll bring a trash can, okay? Let's go." Simon takes him by the arm to help him up, and they make their slow way to the bedroom. They change into their pajamas even though it's only 7 o'clock, and Bram falls asleep right away. Simon's mentally exhausted, but he can't fall asleep. Instead, he watches Bram's breathing even out, the color come back to his cheeks, touched by the first healing that had worked in his tired, ill, body for hours.


End file.
